


Vertigo

by TOWTSLeopardPrincess



Series: Eagles Fly [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Acrophobia, Fear, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TOWTSLeopardPrincess/pseuds/TOWTSLeopardPrincess
Summary: You can't stand heights.





	Vertigo

There is an acute throb in your head, matching the pulse of your frantic heart.

You look down from a lightyear above the wavering landscape,

And all you can see is your blood seeping into the cracks in the pavement,

And all you can hear is the individual sound of each and all of the bones in your body shattering against the unforgiving concrete,

And all you can feel is agony for a moment that stretches into eternity as you break.

But then you’re back, high above, glass above you, below you, around you, a few inches here and there the only things between you and your monsters, gathered around so far down, gaping maws open and tilted upward in silent, mocking laughter.

You avoid their gazes, focus on some distant park,

And all you can see is a red spray misting the green, staining dewdrops,

And all you can hear is the noise of ten thousand flocks of birds, startled into flight by the collision of a body against the dirt,

And all you can feel is terror in the impossibly long seconds before the inevitable impact.

No, no, that can’t be what’s happening, because you’re still standing there in that glass building as high as the stars, and you have to get back, get back from the edge— there is no edge— you have to get away, get away from this place— you can’t move, because your limbs are leaden and your brain is sluggish— you have to get out, get out from this nightmare realm where what haunts you at night infringes on reality.

Your head spins, and you stumble,

And all you can see is the image of your battered body, heaving in a final, rasping breath,

And all you can hear is the whine that leaves your lips as you exhale for the last time,

And all you feel is—

Nothing, because

Everything has gone blissfully dark.

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship between you and high places is like the relationship between butter and heat. Disclaimer: they don't get along very well.


End file.
